Lips of An Angel
by Lily-On-Water
Summary: Max is raped by Dylan... guess who is there to help her pick up the pieces? Told from alternate perspectives and not a songfic, but still kind of reminiscent of the song... so: Rated M for adult themes
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I don't own Maximum Ride, but man I wish I did. **

"Fang?" Her voice shakes, and she focuses on not dropping the phone resting in her trembling fingers. "Can you come?"

Halfway across the world a boy sighs, glances around at his sleeping flock, looking at the girl he chose to replace her. "I'm on my way." His replacement wasn't good enough; he could never replace Max, not even with her clone.

The girl waits, tears burning tracks down her face, she's anxious. She wants to see him, to know that everything is okay, to know how everything happened. Her arms are crossed in an attempt to stop the trembling. Undeterred tears continue to fall, rolling off the slope of her nose. Her face is to the ground. She is still like this when he finds her.

"Max?" He is cautious as he makes his way to her, all the while reminding himself that she isn't his anymore. He must control himself; he must not let himself do something stupid. After all, he has Maya now. She wasn't a substitution for Max, but she was as close as he would get.

"Fang?" She looks up, her voice choked, and his heart stops. Tears streak her face, he can control himself no more, he runs to her.

Hugging her to him tightly, he is once again reminded of how well their bodies fit, matching each other's curves perfectly. She buries her face in his shoulder, and he holds her there, gently stroking her hair. "What happened?"

He was prepared for a lot of answers, growing up with the flock you got used to your fair share of tragedy. He was prepared for a lot of answers, just not the one he got.

"Its…its…its Dyl…Dylan." Her sobs in his shirt muffle the words, and her hyperventilating doesn't help much either. But he stood by her still, wrapping his arms more tightly around her waist, and tensing at the mention of his replacement.

"What about him? What happened to him?" The boy looks around as if expecting to find his body or something, but upon seeing nothing turns back to the girl.

She pulls back, moving so she can look up at him, and when she next speaks her voice is only mildly broken. "He raped me."

The boy sucks in a quick breath, and when he speaks again his voice is shaking, the rage too deep to control. "I'll fucking kill him." He takes her by the shoulders, "Are you positive? How could he take you if you fought him? Did you fight him?" More to himself he mutters, "You must not have, or else I wouldn't be here."

The girl shakes her head, feeling more tears roll down her face, he tries to wipe them away, but they won't stop. She has no control over her body, just like last night. "I don't know, Fang." Her voice breaks, and she fights to get the words out, "I couldn't move." She shakes her head, "I tried, I told him no, but I couldn't move." She feels the sobs building in her throat, and she lets them go, sinking into a fetal position as she does so.

He slides down with her, pulling her onto his lap just the way he used to, back before things got complicated. Before there was a Dylan, before there was a Maya, back when it was just the two of them and the flock verses the world. He strokes her hair as she heaves sobs into his shoulder, swears to himself he will be strong for her.

"It's okay," He whispers into her ear, "Everything is going to be okay now, I won't let him touch you again." His own voice starts to break and he quickly takes a breath, "He's never going to come near you again."

He murmurs to her, all the while thinking about Maya and the others, if he hadn't been there, could he have stopped this? He was afraid of the answer.

"It…it…was so awful." She sobs, her back rising with each note, "I…I didn't have any control, I couldn't move anything."

"What do you mean?" He looks up sharply, an idea forming.

"I couldn't move my arms… if I tried to lift them up…nothing happened, I couldn't lift anything up." She looks up at him, and the fear in her eyes breaks his heart, "What's wrong with me, Fang?"

"Sweetheart," He begins, hesitating, "Is there any possibility that he slipped you something?" He didn't know much about drugs, just that they seemed like the best theory so far as to what had happened.

"He helped Iggy cook," Horror spreads over her face and her body is shaking, "Oh, no."

He tightens his grip on her, wanting to keep her safe forever. "Nothing's wrong with you, Dylan's the one who needs to worry." He meant it.

**A/N: Hey, in case you are one of the original readers, yes, this is a repost, and it is in effort to expand the audience of this story and to improve some parts of it. Please drop some feedback so that I can continue reposting and if you do decide to review I'll dedicate next chapter to you! Thanks a ton!**


	2. Chapter 2

Undeterred tears continue to leak, and he hates to leave her like this. Hates to leave her when she needs him most. But he has to. "Will you be okay?" The girl starts to protest, "Not for a long, just for an hour or two?"

Her heart seizes, he wants her to be alone? He wants to leave her here alone? He wants to leave her alone, even after what she just told him? She starts shaking. "No. No, Fang, please, please don't leave me here alone." She clutches at him, "Please don't do that to me."

He pulls her closer, maneuvers so that he can plant a small kiss on her temple, "I'm not going to leave you alone." He rocks her, brushes a tear from her face, only to have another one roll down in its place. He sighs, "What if I got someone to come sit in here with you? Just for an hour or two? I'd be back before you knew it."

She tenses, but gradually begins to relax as he whispers to her. Then, finally, shakes her head, "I don't want them to see me like this." She takes a breath; a shaky, humorless laugh, "Heck, I don't want you to see me like this." Another tear leaks, "You probably think I'm pathetic now."

"No," He pulls her away so that he can look her in the eyes; those beautiful, deep brown eyes. Maya has those eyes, but somehow they don't seem the same on her as they do on Max. He had grown up with Max; he had been through a lot with those eyes.

"No." He says more forcefully, "I don't think that at all. I'd think you were pathetic if you tried to get through this on your own." In his head he couldn't help but add that he was glad that she had called him, that there was still some things that she would turn to him for.

There is a long moment of silence. Too long, the boy thinks, before the girl takes a deep, ragged breath, "Okay."

"Okay what?" The boy rubs her back, being careful to stay clear of the wings. He has a pretty good guess what she is going to say.

"Okay, you can go. Run off and slay dragons, or Dylan, whichever you have in mind." A hint of her old sarcasm is coming back, but the sadness in her tone rivals out the humor. If there even was any to begin with.

He looks down at her, sees pieces of her old-self popping back-in, she would get through this, it may take a while, but the girl he loved is still in there somewhere. He was going to get her back, but first he would kill the person who had taken her away to begin with. He would get his old-life back, he was sure of it.

**A/N: So, so far so good. Four reviews on last chapter, not bad but I'm sure that we can do better. I happen to know that a lot more than four people are reading this, and I have to ask… Why not drop a word or two and say what you think about it? You've added it to your story alerts and favorite-storied it, so what's the harm in reviewing it? I swear I don't bite and we will need many more reviews than four to keep this story posting at a decent speed. This chapter is dedicated to the four who did review: faxtothemax51799, Raeofmydarkness, JealousMindsThinkAlike, and Lonewolfrox3264! Thank you guys a ton, hopefully next chapter we'll have a longer list to add to!**


	3. Chapter 3

The boy knows that she shouldn't be alone. He is afraid to think about the number of things that could happen to her while she's alone. Before the phone call he wouldn't have thought twice about leaving her alone. She was Maximum Ride, and she could do anything. Of course, if it weren't for the phone call, he wouldn't be here. He'd be back at home with Maya, who would be waking up soon. He should probably call her, but he can't bring himself to. It's as though she doesn't matter anymore, and really, if he's not kidding himself, to him, she doesn't. All that matters is Max, of course, that's all that has ever mattered to him.

She has been pretending to sleep since he left. She keeps hoping that if she pretends for long enough it will actually happen, she feels as if she hasn't slept in decades. Then again, she's scared to sleep, if she sleeps she might dream, and if she dreams who knows what she will see. Maybe she would dream about Fang, maybe about Erasers, heck, maybe she wouldn't dream, those would all be good options. She knows, however, that if she were to dream, it would probably be about Dylan, and she isn't ready for that. Isn't ready to confront him, even in her subconscious state. No, she isn't ready for that.

He's going to kill Dylan, she is sure about that. He's going to kill her boyfriend, if she can even think to call him that anymore, she doesn't think she can. She should be upset, maybe just a little bit, but she isn't. He deserves it, he did wrong, and he would pay for it, just like Ari had.

No, she is not going to compare a freaking rapist to her little brother. That's just wrong. Ari and Dylan are nothing alike. Ari was seven, he hadn't known what he was doing, and he had been raised to think that what was wrong was right. No, Dylan and Ari were nothing alike. Dylan had been raised to be a model bird-kid, he had everything for the taking, and he had ruined it. Plain and simple.

He isn't sure what he's going to do yet. He's going to have to get rid of the threat, he knows that much, he's just not sure about how he's going to do it.

Dylan is super-boy, or super-bird, more accurately; he's designed to be perfect and hard to kill. He had learned from Max for crying out loud! No, a bird-kid-on-bird-kid fight was not the way to go. They way to go would have to be simpler than that, he can't lose. If he loses than Max will truly be alone, and while that might be okay for an hour or so, it isn't okay forever.

Forever, alone with Dylan, the thought scared him more than that of his own death. Much more.

**A/N: Okay, sorry about the long wait but not that many of you reviewed and once again I am inclined to remind you that I know how many people are reading this… and I know how many are neglecting to review. So, I must ask you to please review… if you want to see this continued at a more brisk pace it is up to you to review it and tell me that. This chapter is dedicated to **JealousMindsThinkAlike**, **Faxtothemax51799**, **Watersong77**, **()**, and **Wolfer206**… thank you guys a ton!**


	4. Chapter 4

She is scared. Fang has always been her knight in shining armor, right-hand man, her other half, he'd always been able to take care of anything she threw his way. However, before it had always been a problem that she knew he could handle. Take down a pack of Erasers? No problem. Make a super-quick getaway? Piece of cake. Take on a bird-kid who is genetically altered to never lose? A bird-kid who is stronger, faster, and did she mention genetically altered to never lose? Now that just might be a problem.

If something happens to him she has no idea what she will do. She has had a brief glimpse of what it feels like to be without him, to think him dead, and that glimpse is more than enough for her to know that she can't deal with it again. She just can't.

Maybe calling him was the wrong thing to do. Maybe she just should have suffered through it in silence; surely she had known that he would react like this? She'd spent her whole life with the boy, she knew him better than anyone. There's no way that she hadn't known how he would react. No way.

Anything that happens to him from here on will be because of her. If he dies, it will be because of, and for her. She is sobbing again.

The gun is not hard to find. Even after all these years he still remembers putting it there as though it was yesterday. The coat closet, second floorboard, the one with two nails holding it down. The one that was easiest to take out. He had put it there for protection, back when Eraser attacks were still a threat. He had never used it, but he had always made sure he knew how. He figured it would come in handy one day. That day has come.

The boy now has a plan, a loaded gun, and an advantage. Dylan has no idea that he is here. Well, he will find out soon enough. Sooner, rather than later, Dylan will die. Max will be his, and Maya, along with Dylan will become just another distant memory.

**A/N: Sorry about the long wait, but I've been out-of-my-mind busy! Hope you enjoy this chapter as a sort of Halloween treat… and, it is dedicated to: JealousMindsThinkAlike, maximumrideluver, luvin'-music, 2bamamzed, Random1324, Psychopathic- FanGirl, yaz1069, and LaylaFinagal13927… thank you guys so much! Don't forget to review and have a Happy Halloween!**


	5. Chapter 5

The boy stalks down the hallway in a blur of motion, checking around every doorway for Dylan, he used to know this house, but he cannot be sure about where the other boy would be hiding. He can't afford to take any chances with this; with the gun in his hand, preloaded, but with only one bullet locked in its chamber- one should be enough, but still he is cautious. For the moment Dylan does not know that he's here; for the moment Dylan doesn't know that Max has told someone; that Max has told **him**. He'll find out soon enough.

Another corner comes to pass and he is at the door to the room that's been shared by Angel and Nudge for as long as he can remember. The door is cracked open, not in a way that is overtly obnoxious, just in a way so as to be noticed, in and of itself it is not all that strange. He just can't think to remember a time when the girls had ever left their door open, none, at least when he had lived here. Nudge is one smart kid, and Angel is not too far behind her, almost co-executively they had made the decision to keep their door firmly shut at night. With Iggy and Gazzy as flock members and living under the same roof to boot, there's no telling what could have happened. Can we say, exploding dolls, anyone?

The boy peeks in through the crack, being quiet so as not to disturb the one girl who is asleep in the room, Nudge. Across from her the twin bed normally used by Angel is bloated with stuffed animals, but not the seven-year-old. The blankets are turned down; messy. His blood runs cold.

He wouldn't have; his head is shaking, denial thickly rooted and swimming through every pore in his body. Dylan wouldn't mess with a seven-year-old… he wouldn't mess with Angel… he couldn't. Surely he couldn't have… he couldn't have messed with Angel… could he? Not Angel, no, not Angel.

But still doubt rigs at the edges of his mind, after all, Dylan had messed with Max. The thought is hard to dispel. Dylan had messed with Max, and Max is the toughest person the boy has ever met. Dylan had messed with Max… so what's there to stop him from messing with Angel?

She's only seven, and suddenly her age is a disadvantage; her greatest disadvantage. She may be an incredibly-powerful-flying-bird-kid, and she may have amazingly-accurate-mind-reading-abilities, not to mention kick-ass fighting skills, but at the end of the day, she's only seven. Dylan is fifteen. Suddenly he is running; running faster than he has ever run in his life, white-hot rage putting a stint in his vision.

If he's laid a finger on Angel- The boy is shaking, his body so far out of his control that the walls seem to leap out at him; he is amazed to find that he has not yet ran into one. It was one thing when it was Max- one thing to rape your girlfriend; a fifteen-year-old who can fight for herself… but it's another altogether to… to even think about touching Angel. Angel, who is his baby; Angel, who is everyone is the baby of everyone in the flock; Angel, who is just seven-years-old, and already seen more in her life than most adults ever will.

He can't see the doors as he passes, can't see the walls so he goes by memory, his eyes hardly able to connect with his hands to open the door to Dylan's room. The door crashes into the wall with a bang, and he almost smiles with the clang of it; his mind does not rightly feel his anymore. The little girl is there, sitting on the edge of the bed, Dylan is next to her; his hand clamped tightly around her knee. If he would look up he would see that Angel's eyes are wide; that she's frightened. The boy doubts that he cares one way or the other. The other boy's face is as smug as ever, as angelic as ever, if you didn't know better you would assume he's just a concerned-older brother comforting his little sister. The boy knows better.

"Get the fuck away from her." The boy keeps his voice low, let's Dylan know that he is serious; in the shadow of the doorway he holds the gun, being careful not to reveal it before he can use it. He'll get Angel out of here first; he won't let himself shoot till she is out of here; he just won't do it. He won't risk hurting her over Dylan; not over Dylan.

She looks up at him, something dimly like hope flickering in the whites of her eyes, something in the way of happiness joining it. But just as suddenly they die, from the corner of his vision he can see the hand on her knee tighten. Her eyes sparkle over; if she cries he's going to shoot the son of a bitch on the spot, he'll deal with the aftermath later.

Dylan looks up at him, the expression in his eyes one of disdain; he makes no move to hide it; if anything he revels in it. "Fang, what a nice surprise," His voice, like his words, tells just how nice how he thinks the surprise really is. "You'll have to excuse us; we were just getting ready for bed."

He nods, a sneer warping his face, "Yeah, yeah I'm sure you were, you sick fuck." At a war within himself he fights regret at saying these things in front of Angel, but knowing at the same time that if he hadn't she would have seen them in his mind, anyway. He lowers his voice slightly; trying to make sure it is gentler before he turns his attention towards the little girl. "Come over here, Angel."

She doesn't hesitate. Dylan's grip on her leg doesn't loosen, but somehow she manages to break free easily enough, he feels a sharp wave of something, he can only guess pride, run through him. When she is close enough he grabs her, shoving her behind his back with extra safety to make sure she is not in the way of the gun. She nods at him briefly to show that she understands. He nods back, trying to give a smile before forcing the words through his lips. "I need you to go to Iggy's room, okay, sweetheart? You need to go, wake up Nudge if you can, and then go to Iggy's room. Tell him to lock the door and tell him I'll be there in a few minutes, okay?" His words are barely above a whisper and if Dylan's heard him he's not showing it. Angel nods and then she's gone, he's alone with the perv.

His sigh seems like too much to be called merely one of relief. The kids are together. As long as it stays that way they will be okay, if anyone is going to be hurt tonight it is going to be Dylan, and if God's in a self-righteous mood, maybe himself, but it will not extend past this room. The rest of his flock is in Iggy's room, and Iggy will protect them, Iggy can protect them; they'll be safe.

"I'm guessing you talked with Max?" He does not sound particularly interested, does not sound as though he is concerned at all. If anything the tone in his voice is more matching that of aggravation, if anything it matches annoyance. "It really is sad, you know. If anything she's become an even greater liar than before, sometimes I wonder if she even realizes she's doing it anymore. You might imagine it's hard to take anything that she says true, or, at least you might if you hadn't run off. If you hadn't left her here to break… really there's no help for it." He is taunting, but still parts of his words ring true, Max's voice, broken on the phone, is the only thing he has to reinforce that, but it's enough.

"That's weak." His voice is shaking, the rage that ran through his muscles now escaping in barely comprehensible sentences. "That's weak and you know it. I left over a year ago, everyone else seems to have gotten over it fine, in fact, you're the only one who has so much as mentioned it to me, anyway." It is not exactly true, but at the moment it works. "As for her being a liar, she might very well be; in fact, if you had actually grown up with this flock, you might actually know that. Max is a master when it comes to survival, and if surviving means lying, then hell yes, she's got to be the one hell of a pathological liar." He is shaking again, the rage stretching through every part of him, his body almost on fire with it; voice rising so much that his throat feels hoarse with it; he doesn't lower it. "However, I have never, in all the years that I have known her, received a phone call from her, in the dead of night, where she was crying so hard that, for a moment I could hardly make out her words." His free fists clench and unclench and he looks around desperately for somewhere to release all this energy- this energy that is almost so strong it is close to being physically painful. "I can count the number of times that I have seen her cry… every one of them… on one hand... all of them were awful. God," He gives a humorless laugh that he hardly is able to recognize as his own, "God, they were all awful."

A deep breath, a moment to steal himself, "You wanna… you wanna know what the worst one was though? You wanna know what the worst one was, by far? Well, before… before it was the time I found her on the beach trying to kill herself by cutting a fucking chip out of her arm with a seashell. I'd thought, for the longest time, that that was the worst I would ever see her, God, I wish… I really wish it was. But… but you know what… what you did…" He takes a breath, seething so hard that he can hardly get the words out through the tremors running through his body. "What you did… you… you fucker, you completely fucking ruined her! You destroyed her. Yes, she may be a pathological liar, but she's not an Oscar-winning actress. And let me tell you, if she was lying… if she was lying she just put on the best… as far as I can tell… the best fucking performance of the year." His lungs feel raw from shouting, but it does not matter… not anymore.

Dylan appears to be unfazed by all of this, even having the nerve to look bored, "Are you done now?"

"Just about." He nods, reaching behind him and pulling the gun from its hiding place, his voice low enough so as to be considered frightening, he wastes no time thinking about it. Wastes no more of his time with speeches, he has gotten his point across. So, very quietly the words come.

"Rape this, asshole."

Pulls the trigger.

**A/N: Wow, this was intense to write, I'm sorry that I waited so long, but I really can't think strait right now and you'll just have to believe that I've not been staying away on purpose. I hope you all enjoyed this, and I hope you all review, because if you don't I really don't have the time or the motivation to keep writing it. I want to know what all of you think… I myself am anxious to see what is going to go down in the next chapter… so please, please, please, give reviews! **


	6. Chapter 6

When the tears come they taste of copper, more so even than salt. The boy has sunk to the floor and his back arches as the sobs rip through him, one after the other, leaving him breathless. He can't see past his arms, but even with his eyes closed there is still the gunshot, still the carnage, and still the boy's body hunched over in the far corner. The gun lies discarded at his feet; he kicks it away because he can't look at it; can't connect himself to the thing shriveled up and broken in the corner. The monster that he knew had once been a boy, a boy the same age as himself, a boy in the same predicament as himself; a boy that could have been a member of his flock. He killed him; he actually killed him. His stomach aches and the tears won't stop; the contents of his lunch empty out in front of him but he doesn't feel better; he just feels more disgusted.

The body across the room isn't that of an Eraser, isn't that of someone trying to hurt him, isn't that of a criminal, it's that of a boy. He was just a boy, not even a man, not even armed; not evens spiral through his head rapidly as he stares at the body; the body of the boy he murdered.

"Oh, please, God. Please, God," The words escape his lips in a murmur, soft and fervent but hard to hear through the pounding in his head. His tongue snakes out and he wets his lips again, not sure that he is doing this right, but willing to try either way; willing to try anything that may save him from looking at that body any longer. From feeling the other boy's blood against his skin; his shirt covered and soaked to his chest. His hands clasp together tightly and his head bows to the point of brushing his thumbs. This time his voice is a hoarse scream, followed by a dull mumble that ends with his fist knocking through the wall; if it splinters he doesn't feel it.

The body is still in the corner; the blood still on the walls and the carnage still on his shirt; if his prayers have been answered he has nothing to show for it. The boy is still a murderer; he will always be a murderer; his stomach heaves but there's nothing left inside of it. The only lunch he's eaten today has covered his shirt; his body wrenches forwards and his throat still burns. He tries to swallow but there's nothing there. He needs to get out of this room. More than anything he needs to get out of this room. He needs to get away from this body and check on his flock; needs to check on Angel and Max, tell them that it's okay, even though it's really not. Tell them that he's okay, even though he's really not.

He doesn't even make it to the door before he blacks out, unconscious.

The girl's shoulders are shaking and the sound that escapes her mouth is foreign to the point of being non-human; the tears aren't flowing down her cheeks but storming. The gunshot was audible, not even an entire floor could stifle it; not even an entire house. If she were in France right now, she is sure that she would have heard it, as though she were standing right beside the barrel.

The girl doesn't know what to do. More than anything she wants to break the distance between them. Run down the stairs two at a time, hell, maybe three. She'd friggin' fly there if that's what it took. Anything to make sure that he's okay; anything to make sure the bullet was his; anything to make sure that he's still alive. He has to be alive, she would know if he wasn't.

The gunshot had to have been his. But she can't bear to see him for fear that it wasn't; can't get herself to even stand up without being plagued by visions of him with a bullet through his skull. Another sob ricochets out of her but she bites it down; she will do this. She just has to pull herself together, but what if she can't? What if she goes down there and she finds him in a pool of his own blood? What if she doesn't?

With effort she pulls herself to her feet, and with effort she grabs for the railing of the stairs. She will be there for Fang; one way or the other. She begins her descent.

**A/N: Yes, I know, been a long time, and I promised it would be a shorter one last time, and again, I'm sorry. I do try to write these quickly, but when I do they just turn out botched and I want you guys to have something good to read, rather than something crappy, even if it means a longer wait. The next chapter, and I've said this before, I really think I can do quicker; especially now that it's summer. I hope you will all review and let me know what you think, because if you don't I will have absolutely no motivation and will not feel pressed at all to continue… fair warning. Also, wanted to let you know that the first couple chapters of the new Max book, Nevermore, are available on James Patterson's website. Thanks for reading and PLEASE REMEMBER TO REVIEW!**


	7. Chapter 7

"Oh, thank you God!" The girl breathes a quick sigh of relief as she grabs at the boy's wrist, feels the pulse thudding underneath the skin, he's alive; he's actually alive. With tears pricking at the corners of her eyes she takes his head in her lap, heedless of the vomit surrounding them, of the scarlet covering the walls, of the blasted body in the corner, aware only of the boy in her arms. A few feet away from her lies the gun, she stifles the sudden urge to pick it up, to cradle it just the way she cradles the boy now; it saved her, in its own way that gun, and just as she was cursing it moments ago, she now reveres it.

Through slightly parted lips a surge of laughter spring out, filing through the room with the air of something slightly deranged. She pays it no heed. She just keeps laughing, even as tears stream down in rivulets, taking the same trek as the tears from upstairs. She's not sure what these tears are for, but they feel right, like they are meant to be there. Her eyes fall, by chance, upon the body in the corner, a wave of emotions run through her but she doesn't give them time to process. She is still laughing when the boy wakes up.

"Max?" The shape of her arms is around him, as familiar to him as his own. A lock of tangled hair brushes his face but still he keeps his eyes squeezed shut, scared of what he may see should they open, scared of what it may be that makes this room smell so strongly of copper. After what he can only judge to be a minute, his eyes open; take in first the corpse, then the walls, and then her. Stay focused on her.

"Thank you." She whispers, her voice light and her smile radiant. "Thank you so much."

Her lips come down and touch his once, gently before pulling away. She brushes a strand of hair from his forehead, not quite looking him in the eye as she says it, but meaning it all the same. He can tell she means it; just the same way he can tell that he will end up with this girl. Marry her someday. With a smile he returns the phrase, and with a smile he remembers why he did everything that he did; for her. Everything has been for her.

The thought makes him strangely happy.

"I love you, too."

**A/N: So, what did you think? This is the end and I'm hoping that it met all your expectations. The first time that I published this I also published a sequel from the point of view of both the old flock and the flock that Fang created. I haven't decided if I will do that this time, but if you want me to you had best leave a review and tell me. I'm not sure what it will be called if it is posted, so if you are wanting to read it, (assuming I get reviews enough to rewrite it), you could author alert me or put in your review that you would like to know if it is published. If I do choose to publish it I can PM you if you want, just put that in your review. Thanks for reading and fly on. **


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